


The Doctor Is In

by Axis2ClusterB, o_contrary



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Canon-Typical Drug Use, Fluff and Crack, M/M, pure silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axis2ClusterB/pseuds/Axis2ClusterB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_contrary/pseuds/o_contrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Juice pulls himself up in bed, sitting crosslegged and reaching for the loaded one-hitter on the night stand, even as he's eyeing the tv skeptically. "But seriously, Time Lords? And you give me shit for playing Call of Duty on my off time?"</i>
</p><p>or</p><p>Chibs tries to explain the awesome of Doctor Who to Juice. They get distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor Is In

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, we wrote it via text - TEXT - message, and it is not beta'd. Enjoy at your own risk!
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters from Sons of Anarchy belong to Kurt Sutter, Sutter Ink, Linson Entertainment, Fox 21 and FX Productions. This is a transformative work of fiction; no copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made, please don't sue!

Juice pulls himself up in bed, sitting crosslegged and reaching for the loaded one-hitter on the night stand, even as he's eyeing the tv skeptically. "But seriously, Time Lords? And you give me shit for playing Call of Duty on my off time?" 

Chibs rolls his eyes, takes the lighter and the pipe from Juice's warm fingers and does his own hit while Juice is still holding smoke tight in his lungs. There's the inevitable long, long pause of pot smokers, followed by the controlled exhale and short, gasping catch-up breaths, and then Chibs says, "But it's different, lad! There's history to it!" 

Juice makes that little growling frustrated noise of his that Chibs loves but refuses to encourage. "And don't even get me started on the way they talk! WHY do they call sweaters 'jumpers?' And vests! How is a wifebeater, or tank top, or whatthefuckever a VEST?"

"Comin' from the guy with 'tribal' tats on his noggin. The fuck's your 'tribe' again, Juicy?"

"Don't try to change the subject, dude," Juice retorts, sitting up as he warms to the subject. "Our cuts are vests, goddammit, to suggest otherwise is blasphemy! They sure as shit ain't fuckin waiscoasts!"

Then Juice is cursing as the force of Chibs's laughter carries his thigh onto Juice's side of the bed, straight across the bag of weed, and it's only the fact that Juice's reflexes when it comes to pot are straight up Spiderman-amazing that saves them from catastrophic spillage. "WAISTCOATS? The fuck, Juicy? You been reading Dickens again or some'in?"

"Jane Austen, motherfucker!" Juice manages to get it out with a straight face, before the giggles get him, too. He does manage to get the weed out of harm's way, though, and as far as he's concerned, that puts him ahead of Chibs. 

Who is currently looking at him like he's crazy. "Daft. Fucker." 

Juice sighs. "Well, I'll give you this - that Rose chick IS pretty hot... still don't get 'vest,' though."

Chibs cocks an eyebrow, relaxes back into the bed as the weed spreads through him. "You get that the jolly old UK's the mothership for your cocked-up vernacular, eh? Technically, you Yanks have it wrong."

"I'm Puerto Rican," Juice says loftily, hitting the pipe again.

Chibs guffaws. "By way o' Queens! Ye know what 'melting pot' means, yeah? Your 'English' is a bastard, me lad."

"... your FACE is a bastard."

"No more lectures on things that don't make sense from you, Juicy."

Juice blows fragrant green smoke in Chibs's face. "My sense or yours?" 

And Chibs hates that weed does actually make Juice make more sense about 98% of the time. It also makes Juice horny as hell, which is a vastly preferable alternative to this dead end conversation off What The Fuck Turnpike, in Chibs' estimation. Shouldn't be difficult to redirect his attention. "Got your sense right here, boyo," he smirks, palming his own crotch. He sees the air shudder through Juice, sees the lad's eyes darken. 

"Is that what we're calling it?" Juice asks, voice low and something else - Chibs can't quite put a name to it, other than heat, but Juice is already sliding down the bed, nuzzling at Chibs's hip. "Queen's English and all?" 

"Let's leave the Queen out of it, eh?" 

"You're a queen," Juice mutters, kinda nonsensically, what with his mouth already sucking at Chibs' denim-covered cock. 

"Keep talking about the Queen and see where it gets you, lad," Chibs shoots back, less stern than he would like, but goddamn. The heat and suggestion of damp from Juice's mouth is brilliant, even through the layers of fabric. Chibs sighs a little, leans back against the twenty pillows that Juice insists on. Juice's fingers are moving at his waist, belt button zipper, and then there's actual warm, damp heat and the flicker of Juice's tongue at the head of his cock. 

And it's good, fucking fantastic, the weed-haze making Juice particularly focused on tracing every last bump and ridge as he sucks his way down, not a millimeter left unattended. It also makes it easy for the lad to take him to the root, hold him in his throat, and Chibs has to think about Unser to calm down enough not to be heard all the way back at the clubhouse. Juice is sucking slow, languorous, and there's a finger sliding against Chibs's hole, just the tip pushing in but it's enough to make Chibs cry out, hands gripping at the sides of Juice's skull. He's still not sure how they went from Doctor Who to the best blow job ever, but he'll definitely take it. “Fuck, tha‘s perfect, just like that, Juicy, " he mutters, raking his fingertips up the mohawk, hips jerking when Juice hums at the praise. Juice just rides him out, throat muscles and tongue still working as though Chibs isn't half-thrashing, as though it's exactly what he wanted, here, let me just take care of that for you. But that's it, that's the thing with Juice, what makes him tick - 'Let me take care of that for you.' 

"Fuck yes," Chibs growls out, seating his hips more firmly to the bed, losing thoughts of distracting himself now and concentrating on the mouth around him, warm and young and fucking perfect; the finger sliding further into him; crooking, seeking, finding. Chibs feels the muscles of his lower back start to tense, a current building at the base of his spine. It's a sweet burn, the anticipation of what's next almost as good as the act itself. Then, fuck- somehow Juice is always surprising him- then Juice sweeps his thumb up under Chibs' balls, pressing inside and out as he swallows and moans and Chibs is *done*. His back bows, that building current zapping right up his spine and whiting everything out behind his eyes, leaving him shouting nonsense from a destroyed throat. 

He comes down slow, Juice wrapped around him, fucking petting his hair and whispering to him - shit that Chibs loves and normally won't allow because it changes things - and he finds himself clinging back, breathing hard, trying to recover even as his shaking fingers move to push Juice's boxers down and he's really not sure when the kid lost his too-big jeans in the first fucking place. That thought's briefly terrifying, because Chibs doesn't lose himself like this, _ever_ (anymore), and really not with the few guys that he's allowed himself. More terrifying still is how it's not really terrifying at all, because this is Juice, and maybe it's just time to let someone else in. Right now, though, he really needs to take care of Juice and not waste his bloody spectacular orgasm buzz on thinking. 

Juice keens low into his neck when Chibs gets his fingers around him, slow stroke with a dirty twist that has the lad writhing against him, all shuddering breath and fluid motion. Chibs tugs hard, pulling at the lad's heavy cock, and then he's sliding low. If he's honest, he really loves this: hand tugging rough on Juice's cock as Juice does that moaning, twisting thing; pressing his tongue against Juice's hole, pushing in, tasting and teasing. The lad had been startled, at first, that Chibs would do this without cajoling and of course, Chibs had let him squirm around the subject a little on principle, to see how he'd go about it, but the ability to completely undo anyone is addictive in any form and this is far from an exception. In the end, there hadn't been much in the way of convincing involved on either side. 

Juice, rarely hindered by inhibition, tangles his fingers in Chibs's hair, bucking and begging as his cock drips pre-come over Chibs's hand. Chibs smiles against him and pushes his tongue deeper, loving the way Juice opens for him. He hears that little hitch in Juice's breathing and then it ratchets up, panting begging GROWLING as Juice gives it up, comes with Chibs's hand tight on his cock and Chibs's tongue firmly in his ass. Chibs feels warmth spurt over his hand, shudders a little at the thought of it spattering along Juice's abs and chest.

He loves that he gets to see Juice like this, tension blowing through him and then calming, the lad finally relaxing into a stoned, fucked-out pile of lazy warmth that will soon drape itself along Chibs's body. Moving slowly back up the bed, he lingers over the mess the lad made of himself, cleaning him up with long lathes of his tongue. Juice all but purrs at the attention, fingers tracing over Chibs's shoulders and up into his hair. "C'mere, you," he mumbles, urging Chibs the rest of the way up. It's no hardship for Chibs to let himself be drawn into a kiss, to let Juice lick the taste of himself from Chibs's mouth, to chase his own taste in Juice's. 

Chibs lingers at Juice's mouth, kissing and licking long and slow and lazy, finally pulling back to smile fondly at Juice. "Don't know bout you, laddie, but I'm beat." Juice chuckles tiredly, but he rouses him to help Chibs with straightening the pillows, leans over to flip the lamp off before tucking himself at Chibs's side, one last warm kiss before they settle. 

Chibs is just starting to drift when he hears Juice mutter, "I still think Call of Duty makes more sense than Time Lords." 

-End


End file.
